Along the other wall, plate-glass windows (no doubt heavily insulated) looked over the city, allowing for a beautiful view of the promised firestorm, which now—bless the trogs and their magnificent hats—would not be happening.

In one corner, a small stage had been set up with a single microphone and a stand of instruments: a guitar, a lyre, and a violin. Oh, Nero. As a sick joke, he had intended to fiddle while New York burned. No doubt his guests would have laughed and clapped politely as the city exploded and millions perished to the tune of “This Land Is Your Land.” And who were these guests? The emperor’s billionaire golf buddies? Adult demigods who had been recruited for his postapocalyptic empire? Whoever they were, I hoped Austin stampeded them straight into a mob of angry troglodyte shareholders.

It was fortunate no one was left in the room. They would have faced my wrath. As it was, I shot an arrow into the cake, which wasn’t a very satisfying experience.

I marched through the room, and then, impatient with the sheer size of the place, began to jog. At the far end, I kicked through a doorway, my bow drawn and ready, but found only another empty hallway.

I recognized this area from my dreams, though. Finally, I had reached the imperial family’s living area. Where were the guards? The servants? I decided I didn’t care. Just up ahead would be Meg’s door. I ran.

“Meg!” I barreled into her bedroom.

No one was there.

The bed had been perfectly made up with a new comforter. The broken chairs had been replaced. The room smelled of Pine Sol, so even Meg’s scent had been erased along with any sign of her rebellion. I’d never felt so depressed and alone.

“Hello!” said a small, tinny voice to my left.

I shot an arrow at the nightstand, cracking the screen of a laptop computer showing Nero’s face on a live video call.

“Oh, no,” he said dryly, his image now fractured and pixelated. “You got me.”

His image jiggled, too large and off-center, as if he were holding the camera phone himself and not used to using it. I wondered if the emperor had to worry about cell phones malfunctioning, the way demigods did, or if the phone would broadcast his location to monsters. Then I realized there was no monster within five hundred miles worse than Nero.

I lowered my bow. I had to unclench my jaw in order to speak. “Where is Meg?”

“Oh, she’s quite well. She’s here with me in the throne room. I imagined you’d stumble in front of that monitor sooner or later, so we could chat about your situation.”

“My situation? You’re under siege. We’ve ruined your inferno party. Your forces are being routed. I’m coming for you now, and if you so much as touch a rhinestone on Meg’s glasses, I’ll kill you.”

Nero laughed gently, as if he had no concerns in the world. I didn’t catch the first part of his response, because my attention was drawn to a flash of movement in the hallway. Screech-Bling, CEO of the troglodytes, materialized in Meg’s bedroom doorway, grinning with delight, his colonial outfit covered with monster dust and tufts of red bull fur, his tricorn hat topped with several new headwear acquisitions.

Before Screech-Bling could say anything that would announce his presence, I gave him a subtle shake of the head, warning him to stay put, out of range of the laptop camera. I didn’t want to give Nero any more information about our allies than necessary.

It was impossible to read Screech-Bling’s eyes behind his dark goggles, but being a smart trog, he seemed to understand.

Nero was saying “—quite a different situation. Have you heard of Sassanid gas, Apollo?”

I had no idea what that was, but Screech-Bling almost leaped out of his buckle shoes. His lips curled in a distasteful sneer.

“Ingenious, really,” Nero continued. “The Persians used it against our troops in Syria. Sulfur, bitumen, a few other secret ingredients. Horribly poisonous, causes excruciating death, especially effective in enclosed spaces like tunnels…or buildings.”

My neck hairs stood on end. “Nero. No.”

“Oh, I think yes,” he countered, his voice still pleasant. “You’ve robbed me of my chance to burn down the city, but surely you didn’t think that was my only plan. The backup system is quite intact. You’ve done me the favor of gathering the entire Greek camp in one place! Now, with just a push of a button, everything below the throne room level—”

“Your own people are down here!” I yelled, shaking with fury.

Nero’s distorted face looked pained. “It’s unfortunate, yes. But you’ve forced my hand. At least my darling Meg is here, and some of my other favorites. We will survive. What you don’t seem to realize, Apollo, is that you can’t destroy bank accounts with a bow and arrows. All my assets, all the power I’ve built up for centuries—it’s all safe. And Python is still waiting for your corpse to be delivered to him. So let’s make a deal. I will delay releasing my Sassanid surprise for…say, fifteen minutes. That should be enough time for you to reach the throne room. I’ll let in you, and only you.”

“And Meg?”

Nero looked baffled. “As I said, Meg is fine. I would never hurt her.”

“You—” I choked on my rage. “You do nothing but hurt her.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on up and we’ll have a chat. I’ll even…” He paused, then laughed as if he’d had a sudden inspiration. “I’ll even let Meg decide what to do with you! Surely that’s more than fair. Your other option is that I release the gas now, then come down and collect your corpse at my leisure, along with those of your friends—”

“No!” I tried to curb the desperation in my voice. “No, I’m coming up.”

“Excellent.” Nero gave me a smug smile. “Ta-ta.”

The screen went dark.

I faced Screech-Bling. He stared back, his expression grim.

“Sassanid gas is very—GRR—bad,” he said. “I see why Red Priestess sent me here.”

“Red—you mean Rachel? She told you to find me?”

Screech-Bling nodded. “She sees things, as you said. The future. The worst enemies. The best hats. She told me to come to this place.”

His voice conveyed a level of reverence that suggested Rachel Elizabeth Dare would be getting free skink soup for the rest of her life. I missed my Pythia. I wished she had sought me out herself, rather than sending Screech-Bling, but since the trog could run at supersonic speed and tear through solid rock, I guessed it made sense.

The CEO scowled at the laptop’s dark cracked monitor. “Is it possible Ne-ACK-ro is bluffing about the gas?”

“No,” I said bitterly. “Nero doesn’t bluff. He likes to boast, then follow through. He’ll release that gas as soon as he has me in the throne room.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Screech-Bling mused. “Not much time. Try to stall him. I will gather the trogs. We will disable this gas, or I will see you in Underheaven!”

“But—”

Screech-Bling vanished in a cloud of dust and bull hair.

I tried to steady my breathing. The troglodytes had come through for us once before when I didn’t believe they would. Still, we weren’t underground now. Nero would not have told me about his poison-gas delivery system if it was easy to find or disarm. If he could fumigate an entire skyscraper at the touch of a button, I didn’t see how the trogs would have time to stop him, or even get our forces safely out of the building. And when I faced the emperor, I had no chance of beating him…unless Lu had succeeded in getting his fasces from the leontocephaline, and that mission also seemed impossible.